


The Lies We Tell Ourselves

by JackieSnax



Series: Elliott [1]
Category: Starling - gogglesque & theyoungdoyley
Genre: M/M, Other, gogglesque, starling (story) - Freeform, starling story - Freeform, starlingstory - Freeform, theyoungdoyley
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-04 21:52:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14602488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackieSnax/pseuds/JackieSnax
Summary: “Don’t do it,” Alex says in a flat, dead kind of voice. They don’t expect you to listen.That’s fair.“I won’t,” you lie.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yellow-flamingo-101 on tumblr](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=yellow-flamingo-101+on+tumblr).



“Don’t do it,” Alex says in a flat, dead kind of voice. They don’t expect you to listen. 

 

That’s fair.

 

“I won’t,” you lie.

 

Later, though, you can’t shake the  _ way _ he asked. Head tilted to the side, eyes worried and wide, a furrow between his brows. That furrow, that line you’d like to trace with your claw, you -

 

If anything, he deserves… something. Something.

 

He did the bare minimum, you know, that’s what Alex has been telling you since you came back. He was kind to you. He didn’t actively torture you, like the other children. 

 

(He kept you calm. He kept you clean and cared for and - )

 

But you can’t strike down the guilt that, in a fairer universe, you’d be giving him far more. 

 

See, that’s the truth of it.

 

You knew a long time before the bus what he was to you, knew it like the truth of it was part of your own body, the pattern of the feathers on your back. Knew at the museum, his grin wide, his face  _ proud _ of what you’ve done, essentially spitting in the face of his people’s regime. 

 

Knew at Astris, in a different kind of way. Astris was… romanticized. It was better not to know things you knew at Astris. 

 

But you don’t know, in words, until the bus.

 

Until claws on his arm, him struggling, so much smaller than the gold pulling him forward. You are, on some level, expectant. This is when Calabi will finally break out of your Roy, when he has to, to protect himself. 

 

You expect the Gold to die for a moment, and you are far gone enough that you don’t care, but then -

 

Then -

 

The Gold doesn’t die. 

 

Roy is taken onto the bus, Roy is driven away, Roy is killed on live television, tears rolling down his face, the hair you used to fantasize about touching yanked back to expose his throat, the smooth expanse of it cut simply, ceremonially, 

 

Everything. Clicks. Into. Place.

 

You move. You fight. You want to  _ kill _ , would kill, would die. You  _ can’t _ though, are smaller, younger, weaker - a slash, a noise - a gunshot - Roy’s on the  _ ground, _ and then you are running, running, dragging him behind you but he can’t move fast enough and carrying him would just make you two stand out more - 

 

You drag him into an ally and back him against a wall. Breathe. Breathe. Blood.

 

“Are you hurt?” Every time you ask it it gets louder but he doesn’t - you check yourself, and he’s fine, fine, god, of course it’s just the Gold’s blood, his blood wouldn’t even  _ smell _ like stellaraptor blood, it’s fine, it’ll be fine, it’s -

 

When he kisses you, your hands seize for a moment, your body jolts, your whole face goes numb.

 

You used to have a deal with yourself, at Astris...

 

You shove him away, heart hammering in your throat. He says ‘sorry’ approximately fourteen times, and you suppose that’s that. ‘Sorry.’ An apology. Regret.

 

It doesn’t matter.

 

It doesn’t matter it doesn’t  _ matter _ , bigger things are happening, more important things. Roy,  _ your _ Roy, is being hunted, and he could hate you or love you, it doesn’t change the fact that it is your job to protect him.

 

It’s your  _ job _ .

 

That’s what you realized. That’s the truth of it. He’s your _____, and that means quite a bit, but before all the bullshit to come, it means he lives. He lives, so long as you live.

 

It should be quite easy to achieve, you think. It seems impossible that the drive you have within yourself to keep his heart pumping could be anything but conquering. 


	2. Chapter 2

At Astris, Roy was bigger than you, and you think that confused you a lot.

 

Certainly  _ not _ firstly, there were the fantasies. They never quite fit, you always very much wanted to  _ be in control _ at first, firstly first, when you were very young and only just letting the thoughts that rolled unbidden through the back of your mind rise. 

 

They normally started with him being hurt in some way.

 

He was injured in gym, or had a fight with someone who bothered you. Not Cosmo, because their law forbids physical violence between romantic partners, and you couldn’t quite grasp the whole ‘breaking up’ thing. Later, when your fantasies became more complex, Cosmo simply died during whatever injured Roy.

 

Anyway.

 

He’d come to you hurt, humiliated. This would be when you got to touch his hair.

 

Touching Roy’s hair sort of became a  _ thing _ at Astris. And then, after the feather -

 

_ Having _ Roy’s hair.

 

That became a thing, too. Once he explained it.

 

You touch his hair for the first time that night when he falls sobbing into your side. It is softer than you thought it would be, and clings to your fingers like it wants you there, curls winding round, tangling you  _ down. _ The weight of him too, burrowed into your side. 

 

_ “I’m so scared.” _

 

"I'm sorry," you say, again and again, but it doesn't work. 

 

It takes him less than an hour to fall asleep against you, tears drying on his face. You lie there for two. When you do move, he lets out a small noise like a child, curls towards where you were, and something in you -

 

You pile pillows on top of him, hands shaking. Leave, leave, leave, and don’t look back. Groom your clutchmates haphazardly with itching hands and dream that night, not about the bus, the horror, but about his face on your shoulder, tears clinging to his eyelashes, his whole body relaxed against you in sleep. 


	3. Chapter 3

The next few days are hectic.

 

There’s your life - the thing you missed, back at Astris. It fills your days till they are gasping, and thousands of worried eyes like yours catch you and pin you down. You are acting strange, and their concern ticks more minutes away. 

 

They talk about the kidnapping like it’s something that happened on tv, and you don’t say anything. It’s easier that way.

 

Then -

 

At night, in the morning, in the few minutes you can snag between chores and duties and school, you have it back. You and Roy, you have it back.

 

At Astris your room used to transform when he entered it into something warmer, safer, yet more dangerous than it was before. A thrill down your spine, even when he was just next to you, watching television, because sometimes he’d reach out and -

 

You don’t let him do that part again. Guilt is a fever simmering around your bones, and here, no matter how it  _ feels _ when the curtain’s drawn and you are alone, those thousands of worried eyes seem capable of pinning you both even here.

 

You hate him. You hate him. You sort of hate him.

 

You can’t stop visiting him during the day, and his whole face Lights -!

 

No one has ever looked at you like that before, but Roy did, oh, Roy did. Even back at Astris -

 

You are grooming Ibber, thinking too hard about all of this, and she bats your hand away with a shrill whistle that stirs the babies at her knees. You stop, pull back, and flop down.

 

Almost say ‘Sorry’

 

You  _ hate _ him.

 

Ibber moves more carefully, as always. Settles down beside you after a moment of adjusting the little greys, and when she does, you’re shocked to feel her lightly touch your crest. 

 

You open your eyes. Shrug, look away. She clicks a quiet cackle and digs in, though, and it’s only a short time before your eyes are shut again and you are drifting off towards sleep.

 

“Have you touched him yet?” she asks.

 

You stiffen.

 

“He wants it, too. I wondered if it was just you, but no… maybe it would help, yeah?”

 

“Ibber!”

 

“Get him out of your system. You should do something, anyway. This is worse than before Kenna.” 

 

“Don’t be  _ vile _ .”

 

“It’s just sex! Others do it that way.”

 

“Not us. Not  _ me.” _

 

“Is that all that’s holding you back?”

 

You actually laugh. It feels embarrassing in your throat, but this whole thing is  _ embarrassing _ .

 

You’d never been good at hiding things. Stellaraptors, among their own kind, keep less secrets by default. When your body is covered with micro-moving indicators of your mood, it’s hard to tell your sister “You’re wrong” when she’s seen the way your body…  _ behaves _ around him.

 

It was worse at school. At school, you didn’t try to hide anything, and he  _ still - _

 

She’s wrong, anyway. Very, very wrong, probably maybe possibly wrong he did  _ kiss you _

 

But! But but but.

 

He apologized. Profusely. After.

 

That much regret rather more than negates a single kiss, in your mind.

 

Besides.

 

“It wouldn’t work,” you mumble. You are very tired, and you’re not quite sure you want to share this part yet - what you realized at the bus. You know it will be something of a  _ tragedy _ to others. To you, too, when you have a moment to think about it. 

 

Maybe.

 

You can’t quite see it as anything but the truth now, though.

 

“What do you mean? ‘It wouldn’t work,’ silly, where there’s a will there’s a way! You have bits, he has bits… I think you can figure it out, yes?”

 

You smack her with a pillow and a baby coos. You both freeze, Ibber giggling, you glaring. 

 

“That’s not what I mean,” you say after a moment. “I mean what you said about it ‘getting him out of my system.’ It’d be worse after. I… know it would be.” You watch her.

 

Watch her laughter fade. Watch shock and panic, a raw curiosity, a hesitancy to ask, even though she  _ knows _ \- all of it expressed with each miniscule twitch of feathers, the widening of her eyes, a thousand tiny markers of conversation Roy would never grasp.

 

“Are you sure?” she asks, “I mean… I’ve never heard of -”

 

“I’m sure.”

 

Silence. An explosive breath, and Ibber says, “You know, I don’t think I believe you, you’ve always been something of a  _ romantic _ , I seriously doubt -”

 

“You think I want this?” you snap, and it’s a lie, because -

 

Ibber sees it’s a lie. Her eyes narrow. 

 

You shut yours, and Roy’s worried face floats unbidden back behind your lids.

 

You hate him you hate him you hate him.

 

“Oh _____,” Ibber’s voice, soft. Ibber’s hands, softer, carting through your crest.

  
You  _ hate _ him.


	4. Chapter 4

“I can’t even imagine it,” you make the mistake of saying to Kenna, once. She stops walking, turns around, looks pointedly at you and  _ whistles _ , long and throaty. You kick at her, vehemently glad she’s not Alex. 

 

Here’s what you imagined, at Astris:

 

It would not be an easy life because you are realistic, but it would be easier than it would be, because Ibber is right, you are indeed something of a romantic.

 

Roy would write more, and less stupidly, and you’d write back. He’d take a page out of your book and come here for school; study something small and quiet. Farming is the ‘perfect’ option you decided on, but you considered pottery, cooking. Social work or teaching if he wasn’t himself, if they could figure out some way to hide him.

 

You liked the idea of Roy working with children. Real children. Stellaraptor children too, maybe a mixed class with a stellaraptor teacher as well. If it was any other ignorant monkey you’d think it dangerous, but with Roy, kids seemed seemed an ideal platform with which to teach him more about all the things he needed to know. 

 

You loathed the idea of Calabi working with children, however. Of ‘Calabi’ doing anything Brave and Heroic and Good. Of pictures being printed with Calabi’s face, little raptor greys grinning all around. 

 

Roy, though.

 

It’s not just that he’d be good with children, it’s that -

 

You’ve always wanted children.

 

It’s really the only thing that doesn’t give this a happy ending. 

 

Farming is safer to think about.

 

He’d study Empyrean Botany. Learn about the planet. Look at a new shrub every day and come back in wide-eyed wonder.

 

After school…

 

Once, on a ride with Kenna and Alex, you passed by a Treehouse that was for sale by a human real estate company. They’d constructed a lopsided human-style cabin at the base.

 

You couldn’t stop looking at it.

 

Alex had spat out the window of the bus at it, Kenna had made some comment about human architecture, and you’d thought ‘Roy could ‘officially’ live in the bottom.

 

Kira too. Whatever. He needed another human, probably.

 

You, Kenna, and… whoever else you lived with, they could ‘officially’ live in the treehouse. 

 

But really, inside, you would live together. Life would be hard, but easy. You would touch each other often. Watch him change, backwards from normal - his colors fading to grey, new lines on his face. You would have what you two had found in permanency. You would adopt children together. You would maybe even tell him, someday, what ____ was, what he meant to you, just you.

 

What he was, period. Confessing any secret to Roy was always a risk, enormous, because he was  _ everything _ for a while, and you never knew what might kill it all. Now, though, this secret, one he probably wouldn’t even be able to  _ comprehend _ , this secret seemed too large to contain.

 

It was unfair to keep something about someone from themselves. Regardless of whether or not he wanted to be, you were quite sure he  _ was _ your ____. So! He should know, right?

 

And not learn it from anyone  _ else. _

 

Ibber knew, now. Kenna might. Probably did.

 

Alex had probably imagined it, truth be told. It seemed the kind of apocalyptic endpoint that Alex would’ve imagined after hearing ‘Calabi Red touched Elliott at all.’

 

It almost comes up during the talk about colors.

 

How easy would it have been, maybe, to finish “still do” with “but I won’t.”

 

Beause you won’t. You’ve ‘imprinted,’ as the humans put it. Found a ____. Done the true Blue thing and settled down with a mate, according to every baser instinct you have,  _ fuck it, _ so being Red someday is probably out.

 

The ones that find ____ never change. They’re always Blue, through and through. 

 

(You  _ hate _ him.)


End file.
